this mask I must wear
it leaves me with a cold sense
of unbelonging
it makes me a stranger
among many other masked strangers
and though I am but a few miles away
I feel far from home

I saw a band of pixies
Among the mushrooms
In my yard
It may have been the drinking
Or I had been working
Much too hard

But as the sun was setting
On the window ledge
That night
I thought I may have seen it all
Until they began
To fight

They were all so very angry
And I thought this might
Be fun
Until things got too out of hand
And a pixie
Pulled a gun

I rapped upon my window hard
And yelled
‘There’ll be none of that!’
Then the gun quickly disappeared
Beneath his
Little hat

Now those little imps best beware
Until I
Settle down
Into my new position
As the sheriff
Of Pixie Town

Every moment has it's building
Every hour has it's time
Every day has it's passing
Every past the simple crime
of suffering the regrets
of what might have been
and the irony of worry
of what could happen
and when

... and hidden from the world
     where most cannot see
     a boiling cauldron of madness
     the trouble that is me

      when the dark times come
       I seethe at light's absence
       then rage at God
       for his apparent indifference....

I dreamt of a desert
Where I sat with a sage
His comments were brief
On the mellowing of age
“From the ache of all yearning
To the wisdom of learning
One must guard passion
From excess and rage”

There are times
I don't dance
I but hobble
to the words of old songs
that seem all out of tune
It's when I could ban
the pen from my hand
Stand alone in the darkness
and just howl at the moon

When I stand weak
In the judgement of others
Trembling at the verdict
of my shaky self-worth
May I think of the love
Of my very sweet mother
Who thought nothing more dear
Than the day of my birth